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pentuppen · 2 months ago

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New Book sneak peek

Not sure who will be at all interested aside from those that have read Loose the Arrow or Unleashed, but here's a one time sneak peek at my next writing project while I go through the long wait of Unfamiliars being published.

This will be the only snippet I'll be putting up, just for the ones that were with me right at the beginning....

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The scream was almost swallowed by snarling thunder and the wind’s archaic howl as it raced across the night. This wasn’t just a storm, but a cataclysmic expression of a god's discontent. Clouds boiled violently overhead, ignited by lightning that left stark afterimages of a forest trying to tear itself out by the very roots. The deific nature of the storm would keep most people indoors, just in case this amounted to more than a godly tantrum, and even the most zealous Grove Speakers would have bunkered down on a night like tonight.

It was a night that reminded them all that they lived at the whim of true, tangible gods, and all their petty lives could mean nothing in the blink of an eye. None of the gods had walked the land in centuries, but the old stories were close enough to be well remembered still. The storm demanded that the land pay attention to the presence of its makers, though there was no real way to tell which god’s ire had been raised this time.

And yet, as divine temper thrashed across the sky, pulling at tree’s until their roots became exposed with tortured groans, a small sound found its way into a cave. This particular cave had been chosen as a safe haven for several creatures seeking to escape the storm's indiscriminate wrath. Tonight, a lone wolf shivered alongside foxes, mice and an old stag, its pelt a ragged grey and moulting in patches.

The animals would occasionally exchange furtive, twitching glances as if they understood that a single moment of undeniable instinct was just a thought away. But even to an animal, the storm was death to those who could not find a bolthole, and a god's wrath could touch man and beast alike if it was their inclination. The wolf would occasionally stare at the fox’s young cubs a little too intently, but then its pale eyes would be drawn to the presence in the back of the room and it would look away quickly.

The figure was half wedged behind the stag, sharing its warmth, her head buried in her arms where she had not moved since the wolf had crawled in here.

She had been dozing, not quite able to fall into full sleep while the tension of the storm seemed to hum over her skin and make her teeth ache. Her mind had been drifting, and when the sudden scream trailed behind the last roll of thunder, her head had lifted quickly from her arms. The elf might have dismissed it as a trick of the wind, if not for the twitching and alert ears of the wolf and the nervous shiver that seemed to go through the rest of the animals like an invisible wave.

The wolf growled. It was a nervous sound that trickled from its wrinkling muzzle as its ears flattened and its head lowered to its paws. In this unlikely sanctuary, the animals were aware enough of nature's laws to be wary of one another, but none of them seemed disturbed as the woman crawled between them, edging closer to the cave’s open maw.

Even with her knowing eyes, she could barely see a few feet outside the cave. The rain seemed to descend in a solid sheet, while the trees swayed like the stumbling legs of giants. The ground was so waterlogged that the forest floor heaved as though the very land were struggling for breath.

Her eyes closed as she knelt there on all fours, becoming very still. After a moment they opened again, their stormclad hue now ringed in molten gold that burned fiercely in the glare of another lightning strike. Her head tilted slowly, ears accepting the storm's wrath while peeling back its layers, listening for another sound. She stayed that way for some time, wreathed in the thick smell of the storm and damp fur. with the grit of the cave floor under her palms. But no sound emerged from the howling winds, and by the time she moved back from the cave mouth, most of the animals were asleep. Only the stag remained awake, watching her carefully.

It didn’t seem afraid of her as she settled back against the cave wall, but it continued to stare until that gold ring faded from her eyes, leaving them in darkness once more. There were still several hours till dawn, and she would do well to get more rest before she made the final push to the city. Beside her, a large sack stained a dark maroon hid her latest bounty, another dark parasite borne by a cursed dreamer.

This particular creature had been naught but shadows and teeth in the tight quarters of a rotten tomb until she’d taken its head. Now it would be yet another study for the Carvers at the Thaum, who would break it down to the smallest atom and still come up with nothing. Still the Thaumaturgist’s Guild always paid without haggling, and she would have enough to supply herself for the winter season.

There would be no hope of catching a lift on a passing trade wagon, not with her bounty stinking beside her, and the roads were likely to be strewn with the storm's detritus come morning. On foot, she could still be in Arcforge Haven by noon if the storm let up before dawn, spending only one night in the city before leaving for the wilds again. There would be no need to remain longer, since city’s made her feel awkward, as if she abandoned much of the grace that carried her through the wilds the moment she passed through their stone walls.

An hour later the rage of the storm had devolved into a sullen grumble, the sky occasionally growling tersely as the clouds began to part enough for one or two stars to shine through. Verlaine had once again fallen into a doze when another sound had her jerking her head up again, eyes alert and senses sharp. Likewise, one of the foxes, a female, seemed to be staring intently at the cave’s opening, ears pricked and twitching.

It wasn’t a scream this time, but a cry, in a tone that pressed on ancient instincts belonging to every sentient species. It was the cry of something young and vulnerable, in distress or pain and she felt every muscle in her body respond. Again she moved to the mouth of the cave, bracing a hand on drenched rock, as she cocked her head and listened.

Narrowed eyes gleamed with molten gold once more, and this time the other sounds of the forest fell away to nothing in her head but the sound of her own breath. Sharper instincts now lay over hers, guiding her ears until she heard it again, loud enough that it could not be mistaken for anything else. The cry resonated with her body, making every limb tense in sympathy for a vital and unthinking imperative.

Something young was crying in the dark. Helpless and alone.

As her body trembled with the urge to propel itself out into the remnants of the storm, a sharp yip from the fox made her look at the creature. The fox stared back, her eyes seeming to steadily portray the same urgency Verlaine could feel vibrating in her bones. She was not a mother, and likely never would be given how she lived, but instinct was instinct, and with a deliberate nod to the fox, she set out into the dwindling storm.

~o0O0o~

“Hold the lantern steady, damn thing is nearly pointless as it is in this weather!”

The two men stumbled away from the still smoldering wreckage of the carriage, their feet sinking and sliding on thick mud and rain slickened grass as they ventured into the trees. The wind had died down enough that the taller of the two could be heard as he shouted to his fellow with the lantern, but the rain still fell heavily, making the scant light practically useless to them.

The man holding the lantern, a heavyset fellow made heavier still by his rain sodden cloak, braced himself against a swaying tree and shook his head. “It’s no good. How are we supposed to find a damn thing in all this mess?

The wind picked up his voice and tried to carry it away, but the taller man waved an armored hand to silence him while picking his way through exposed roots and broken branches. Reluctantly, the lantern bearer pushed himself away from the tree and began to follow, his heart jumping into his throat everytime his foot threatened to go out from under him.

Halorne was not the lightest man on his feet outside of a city, and the slope leading deeper into the forest looked like a death trap. They were following a trail of wreckage, and not just from the storm. As they stumbled through the stricken forest, Halorne kept hoping the assassin would eventually turn around and say he’d lost the trail. But every time he worked up the courage to say the words, they would find another piece of charred wood, or a body part, and they would press on.

Every now and then, Parker would stop, holding up a fist, and they would stand there listening for the cry the assassin swore he’d heard when they arrived. But there was no cry, and Halorne found himself hoping there never would be, and nobody would ever know what they had come here to potentially do.

This was a bad job all over, and the deeper they went, the more Halorne’s courage seemed to wither in him. Give him something to thump or someone to threaten and he would live up to the glower that framed his scarred and battered face. He was not a man who could be called squeamish when it came to dirty jobs, but this business was downright vile.

He kept looking at Parker, perhaps wishing to see that same looming hesitance in the assassin's face, but the man’s expression was grim and unreadable as he pushed on through the half fallen forest. Halorne barely knew the man, and resented being sent out here with him on this troubling errand. He didn’t care much for the gods, and what happened to his soul was for them to squabble over, if any of them wanted such a grimy and scuffed thing of course. But there were some things that reminded a man that other eyes were watching, and judging.

After an hour of carefully and laboriously picking their way deeper into the forest, they still hadn’t heard the cry again, and Halborne felt a guilty sort of relief that didn’t last long before his foot snagged on a tree root and sent him painfully sprawling. The lantern tumbled out of his hands and rolled away as his chin collided with a thick branch and all the air was knocked out of his lungs. Thick mud oozed its way under his armour as he struggled to painfully sit up and looked behind him.

For a moment, his heart froze and his spirit left his body as he looked into the sightless eyes of a young woman. She had been burned badly enough that she was only recognizable as a woman by the tatters of her dress and the glint of a ruby and pearl earring that hung from one ear. Halorne didn’t know how long he half knelt there staring at the piece of jewelry. Perhaps his fascination came from the fact that the flesh of the ear it was worn upon, was untouched by the blistering heat that had scorched most of the woman’s body.

Or perhaps it was the fact that it didn’t look as though she had been thrown by either the explosion or the storm. Though his stumbling over her had disturbed the body, he could still see that she had sat down at the base of the oak where she now half slumped. Her skin looked like cooked, blistering meat, and it must have been agony to move, let alone walk the distance she had.

A hand grabbed the hood of his cloak and Halborne yelped as he was hauled to his feet, only to have a gauntleted hand slapped over his mouth as Parker silenced him again. Halorne felt his heart drop again when he heard it, and the question of what had propelled the broken and burnt woman this far was answered.

Parker released him and shoved the retrieved lantern into his hands, stepping over the woman’s body to look around the trunk of the tree. The wails that the assassin had sworn he’d heard back on the road, had died down to the tired cry of a voice that had almost given up hope of anyone coming and Halorne’s heart sank further. He came to stand beside Parker as the sellsword stilled and stared at a large hollow in the base of the tree.

When he placed a hand on one of his daggers, Halorne grabbed his arm instinctively, earning him a sharp look from the man. Halorne wanted to tell him that this wasn’t right. It wouldn’t be the first time that a simple job spiralled out of control and into depths he’d rather not wade in. But there was nothing behind Parker’s stare. He did not share in Halorne’s discomfort, and the tiny body tucked into the tree’s hollow did not move him to even hesitate.

The Hidden Hands were not well known for their empathy, and Halorne immediately felt stupid for even thinking the man might be stalled from his bleak duty. There was nothing to appeal to behind those eyes, and it made Halorne wonder if the masters of the assassin’s guild sucked out their souls along with their sympathies. No wonder the Hand’s commanded such a high price! One look into those empty eyes and Halorne wanted to piss his own leathers.

Feeling like an altogether different kind of coward, Halborne let his hand fall away, and turned his back on the tree and it’s hollow. He set his eyes upon the deeper shadows amid the twisted and felled trees, bracing himself for that soft sound of steel meeting flesh. It didn’t make him feel any more detached or blameless, nor did it stop him from feeling as though the very trees were looking down on them, and remembering.

It did convince him that it was high time he got out of this damned business, even when he rightly knew that ship had probably sailed long ago. He was probably as tainted as the man with the blade, and he let the weight of that knowledge settle on his shoulders while he waited for that dreadful sound.

What both men heard instead, was the kind of growl that crawled beneath their clothes and over their flesh. Halborne felt his balls creep up into his abdomen as his body trembled like a tuning fork that had been struck by that visceral sound. He watched, helplessly frozen as a shadow the size of a horse, detached itself from the vague horizon of the treeline and stalked towards them. Halborne didn’t care much for gods, but he’d heard enough stories of the wilds and it’s protectors to empty his bladder for real when a pair of golden eyes burned through the shadows and seemed to stare down into his rotted soul.

Dimly he heard the song of more significant steel than his dagger beside him, and before he could shout a warning, the sellsword darted forward, his blade erupting in poison fire that repelled the rain still falling through the trees. A powerful blow threw the man’s body across the branch strewn clearing, and Halborne heard himself whimper as he watched the sellsword tumble over the forest floor like a broken toy.

Twigs crackled under the creature's heavy tread, and Halborne whimpered again as he screwed his eyes shut. His body wanted to run, but his mind was still present enough to know that he’d get no more than two steps. If he had been a religious man, perhaps now might have been the time where he would have prayed, while hot and steaming breath pressed against his skin in heavy pants that blew strands of sodden hair from his eyes.

But there was barely time to understand that he was going to die, before massive jaws closed over his face, and the grind of his own skull giving way to crushing pressure, filled his ears. It was quick enough that there was barely a scream before the body fell limp and useless to the waterlogged earth.

The shadow moved again, drawing closer to the hollowed tree, a dark and dripping muzzle lowering itself to the bundle hidden within. From a pile of singed and sodden blankets, a tiny pink hand flailed below flaring nostrils. The babe’s tired whimpers quieted further, evolving into a curious babble while little fingers gripped black fur.

As if given a signal, the rain began to slow and then stop, and the beast lifted its head to the sky with a short growl. As if it had received some kind of answer in the dripping silence that followed, it lay before the base of the tree, blocking the hollow with its body, as it waited for the morning light.

~o0O0o~

#My writing #Non fanfic #original characters

11 notes · View notes

pentuppen · 2 months ago

Text

New Book sneak peek

This will be the only snippet I'll be putting up, just for the ones that were with me right at the beginning....

--------------------------------------

The figure was half wedged behind the stag, sharing its warmth, her head buried in her arms where she had not moved since the wolf had crawled in here.

Something young was crying in the dark. Helpless and alone.

~o0O0o~

“Hold the lantern steady, damn thing is nearly pointless as it is in this weather!”

~o0O0o~

#My writing #Non fanfic #original characters

11 notes · View notes